The Night Of The Bayou Devil
by challengerspet
Summary: This is not my story I am just posting it for someone who can't but it's a good story...Atie and Jim are on assignment in the Bayou country and come across a most interesting twist  COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

James West and his partner Artemus Gordon sat in the saloon playing poker with three rather unsavory looking men. The wiry red haired man with a drooping mustache and a two day growth of beard was called Reds. He had the look of a snake, his beady eyes shifting from side to side as if looking to see if anyone was watching him. He drank heavily and it showed in the lines and creases on his face.

To his right, sat his friend, Joe, a burly man with a low forehead, bushy eyebrows and a perennial cigar planted in the corner of his mouth. His skin had the leathery, weathered look of a man who had spent too much time in the sun. The smile he kept plastered to his face made him look like an oily salesman trying to palm off cut glass for diamonds. The most impressive thing about Joe was the size of his hands. They were thick fingered and looked like they could crush stone.

The third in their trio, Otis, was a short, round, bald man, younger than he actually looked. Otis did not speak often, but when he did it was in simple sentences and usually garnered him a snicker or a taunt from the other two. He was obviously submissive to his companion's dominant behaviors.

"Will you bet, please?" Jim asked impatiently as Arte sorted and resorted the cards in his hand.

"Patience, James," Arte replied, his words slurring slightly, "Never rush a master of the cards."

"Drunken master," Jim said under his breath growing annoyed.

Artemus shot his partner a look and placed his bet. All around the table the others followed suit. Arte downed his whiskey and ordered another before continuing. He raised the last man's bet with an exaggerated flair.

"I'll raise you $100," he announced grandiosely.

"Mister, we got a $10 limit," Reds told him.

"We told you that a dozen times already," Joe added impatiently.

"All right, all right," Arte took back his money and tossed $10 into the pot, "I'll raise you $10."

Jim glared at Arte and called. Otis tossed his money in and then distributed cards as each man asked for 2, or 3 cards, discarding ones in their hand. Arte did not take any. Glancing around the table, he slid a card down his sleeve and into his hand, palming one that would do him no good. Joe saw the clumsy exchange and threw his cards down. Joe and Jim stood in unison and faced Arte angrily.

"Cheat!" Joe shouted.

Pulling an innocent face, Arte asked, "What are you talking about?"

"I saw it to, Artemus. You pulled a card from your sleeve," Jim accused.

"Ha!" Arte laughed drunkenly, "Prove it, my good man," he said with a wave of his hand as though dismissing the ridiculous accusation.

Jim yanked Arte out of his chair and pulled his jacket off. Several cards, all aces, fluttered to the floor.

Arte let out a nervous little laugh. "Oops," he slurred covering his mouth to hide a snicker, as everyone was standing menacingly around him calling him a cheat. Jim grabbed him by the front of his shirt and Arte cringed.

"You pompous, egotistical, cheat!" Jim sneered, his face close to Arte's. He drew back his fist.

"Remember, not too hard," Arte managed to whisper before Jim landed the prearranged sock to his partner's jaw that sent him sprawling, arms and legs flailing. Always, the dramatic, Arte let the momentum skid him across the floor before drunkenly struggling to get up, rubbing his jaw and working it side to side painfully.

Reds threw Arte's jacket at him. "Get the hell out of here," he yelled as the bartender came over in a hurry.

"What's all the ruckus here?" he demanded. "This is a respectable joint!"

"That man's a cheater," Joe informed the bartender, "And a drunk!"

The bartender seized Artemus by the back of his collar and the back of his trousers, hauled him to the door and dumped him unceremoniously into the street. "And stay out!" he shouted turning away, slapping his hands against each other, done with the troublemaker.

The four remaining poker players peered out the window snickering as the drunken cheat swayed down the street singing loudly. Then they sat back down and gathered up their cards.

"What's your name, mister?" Joe asked in his gravelly voice, shifting his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other without using his hands.

"James West," Jim introduced himself.

"That joker a friend of yours?" Reds asked thumbing toward the door.

"He used to be. I hope I never see him again," Jim informed the men.

His card partners exchanged glances.

"I'm Reds Anderson," Reds introduced himself, "This here's Joe Hammond, and Otis Clatterbuck. Are you the James West that's a secret service man?"

"I was. They've paired me off with that clown too long. Made me work with someone who doesn't want to do anything but drink. He can't even appreciate the finer points of fighting and believe me I tried to teach him. All he's good for is drinking," Jim spat. "I quit that lame job this morning," he added, "Now I'm just Jim West, private citizen looking for work."

Another quick exchange of glances as Jim suppressed his smile and pulled Arte's money toward himself. "We'll just split that drunk's money and start over, what do you say, boys?" he smiled all around.

"I like the way you think," Reds answered as the others settled back into their seats.

"So you're not a drinker?" Joe asked Jim. His deep gravelly voice sounded more like a growl than actual speech.

"I drink, I'm just not a drunk. Makes a man sloppy," Jim grinned, calmly accepting the cards Reds tossed in front of him.

Jim spent the next few hours playing cards and working hard to convince his new friends that he had left the service and was looking for more 'rewarding' work. He plied them with drinks, taking his time with his own, until they were tipsy and talkative.

The governor of the Louisiana Territory had requested help in finding out who or what was terrorizing the people in the bayou into running scared and leaving shipments of arms and goods for the fort, open to theft. The reports the bureau had received cited a 'monster', a 'devil', running loose along the bayou waterways. The Cajuns were superstitious and scared.

Discreet questions around town had gleaned that these three roamed the bayous unafraid. They kept to themselves no one really knew who they were or where they were from. To Jim, none of the three seemed capable of being the brains behind whatever was going on. He hoped to join them and discover who was behind all the recent activity.

"Our boss is always looking for a good man with a gun," Otis told Jim.

Reds shot Otis a warning look and Joe kicked him under the table. Otis closed his mouth and began to study his cards intently.

"Oh yeah? Think he'd hire me?" Jim asked casually, placing a bet. "I'm better than most with a gun."

"Everything we've heard says you've been one half of a team," Joe said snidely.

"That glory hog?" Jim exclaimed, "He's worthless and the service is going to find out just how worthless now that I'm gone," Jim answered with bravado.

"That a fact," Reds commented quietly.

"It is," Jim assured him, deliberately losing the hand. "So what do you think? Is there a job for me in your organization?"

"Where can we reach you? We'll talk to the boss in the morning and let you know," Reds answered gathering the pot he'd just won.

Jim sat back and considered, "I guess this place is as good as any," he said looking around the saloon. "I just have to get my gear from the train I used to share with Mr. Moron," he chuckled.

"Then we'll meet you here tomorrow morning, Mr. West," Joe stood and extended a beefy hand to Jim.

Jim rose and shook it firmly. "Thanks, fella's." He left the saloon, mounted his black stallion and rode quickly away.

"What do you think, Reds?" Joe asked.

"If he's telling the truth, the boss'll be glad to have him. Think of all the things he knows about when and where more shipments will be coming in," Reds answered.

"And he's through with that partner of his," Joe added. "That'll make the boss real happy."

Then he turned to Otis and slapped him on the back of his bald head. "Next time, shut your trap, Otis. We wanted to find out a little more before we made the offer," he said not really angry. He just liked harassing Otis.

"Sorry, boys, I just thought…" Otis started.

"Stupe! You don't think remember? The boss told you never to try to think. It might use up what little brains you've got left," Joe growled guffawing out a loud laugh.

The three left the saloon and rode to the nearest waterway, disappearing into the bayou by boat.

Jim entered the train and found Artemus sitting on the sofa, holding a cool cloth to his jaw. When Arte saw him, he stood and dropped the cloth onto the table.

"I thought you weren't going to hit me too hard, James," Arte growled. "That punch rattled my teeth!"

"Sorry, Arte, I had to make it look good," Jim grinned.

"Yeah? Well how good does this look," Arte turned his face so Jim could see the bruise on his jaw.

"Looks like it hurts," Jim chuckled softly, enjoying himself.

"It does hurt!" Arte thundered.

Jim began to laugh in earnest

"Let me belt you and we'll see what's funny then," his partner suggested making a fist and taking a step forward.

Jim backed up, laughing harder, his hands out placating him, "No, that's alright. I believe you, Arte. Honest. I'm sorry," he pleaded unconvincingly. He was laughing too hard to be convincing, "You took it well, though. They really believed you were drunk and that I was mad at you."

"That's because I'm a fine actor," Arte said calming. He rubbed his jaw gingerly. "Next time I get to deliver the punch."

"You did on our last case, remember? Consider this payback," Jim reminded his partner, heading for his room.

"So? Did you get a job with them?" Arte asked following Jim down the corridor, ignoring the reminder.

"I'll know in the morning. I told them I had to come back to get my things. I'll be staying at the saloon," Jim told his partner tossing what he'd need into his valise.

"What a dump," Arte said leaning against Jim's dresser.

Jim shrugged, "Stinks to be me, I guess," he chuckled.

Arte opened a drawer and began emptying it one piece at a time onto Jim's bed.

"I don't have to take everything I own, Arte," Jim protested as clothing sailed across the room landing in a heap near him.

Arte smiled at Jim, "Really? How do you know?" He tossed Jim's underwear onto the bed.

"What's that supposed to mean," Jim asked putting the clothes back into his drawer even as Arte pulled out more. "Stop it!" Jim raised his voice.

"I could very easily change the locks while you're gone, you know. Then what would you do?" Arte smiled evilly, pulling out a shirt and letting it unfold before tossing it with the rest on the bed.

Jim stopped what he was doing. "I said I was sorry, Arte," he defended himself.

"You didn't convince me," Arte answered, slowly tossing item after item onto the bed, making a mess of Jim's things.

"Arte!" Jim said loudly as Artemus landed a shirt on his head.

"Alright," Jim said seriously, "I'm sorry, Arte. I got carried away in the moment," Jim apologized.

Arte tossed another article of clothing onto the bed looking Jim in the eye.

"What?" Jim asked, "What do you want me to say?"

Yet another piece of clothing landed on the bed. "That you did it on purpose," Arte smiled.

"I did, ok? I admit it, but I never meant to hurt you," Jim agreed giving Arte his most winning smile. Artie dropped the shirt he'd pulled out back into the drawer letting it hang half in and half out. He was finished making a mess.

"So what do you want me to do?" he asked casually, moving away from the dresser.

"Find out who these guys are. Their names are Reds Anderson, Joe Hammond, and Otis Clatterbuck," Jim told his friend continuing to pack.

"Are you kidding me? Except for Hammond, those don't even sound like real names," Arte protested mildly.

"Well that's how they introduced themselves. Get word to me when you have some information," Jim said snapping his valise closed. He looked at the mess on his bed and turned to his partner as he reached the door. "You're cleaning that up," he said quietly, leaving Arte standing in the middle of his room.


	2. Chapter 2

Artemus heard the door to the parlor car close. He chuckled and began folding the clothes and putting them back in the drawer.

The next morning, Jim sat sipping coffee and picking at a greasy version of eggs and biscuits when his companions from the night before entered. They joined him, sitting without waiting to be invited.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Jim greeted them pushing his plate away. He missed Arte's cooking already.

"Morning," Reds answered. He seemed to be the spokesman for their little group. "Boss wants to meet you," he told Jim.

"When?" Jim asked trying to sound anxious but not overly so. He noticed Otis eyeing the uneaten plate. Jim pushed it over in front of him. "Help yourself," he told Otis.

"Thanks," Otis dug into the greasy eggs happily.

"Didn't you eat enough already?" Joe asked disgusted, "You keep up that pace and you won't be able to sit a horse at all. You're not so good at it now," he chuckled.

"Leave him alone, Joe," Reds ordered then to Jim he said, "We'll take you to meet the boss this afternoon. He's busy til about 5:00. We'll meet you back here around 4:00," Reds glanced over at Otis who was just polishing the plate with a bit of biscuit.

"That's fine," Jim answered sincerely. "What kind of work will it be?" he asked wondering how Otis could consume nearly pure grease.

"Boss'll tell you if he decides to take you on," Reds told him. "If he doesn't, then you don't need to know. Otis, are you about done with that? They will wash the plate, you know," he added in an irritated voice.

"I'm done," Otis said licking his lips and wiping greasy fingers on his pants legs.

Joe and Reds rose, Joe pulled Otis roughly out of his seat, "See you at 4:00," he told Jim and the trio left.

At the door, Joe shoved a wizened old man out of their way. "Watch it there, sonny," the old timer shouted in a thick Cajun accent, staggering back with the rough shove.

"Shut up, pops," Joe growled giving him a second, harder shove that sent the old man down on his backside.

Jim shook his head with the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Poor Arte'd met the ground at the saloon twice now in less than 24 hours. Arte entered muttering under his breath and brushing dust off his backside.

"Hey, old timer," Jim called to him.

Stooped and bowlegged, Arte shuffled over to him. "What you want, sonny?" he asked.

"Let me treat you to a meal," Jim offered pushing a chair out with the toe of his boot.

"Ah, merci, merci bien," Arte answered and took the offered seat.

"Can you bring the old man a plate of breakfast?" Jim called over to the barkeep, who doubled as the cook during the morning hours. Then he leaned his forearms on the table and spoke softly to Arte. "What have you got?"

"Not a lot," Arte answered matching Jim's low tone, "Anderson, Hammond, and Clatterbuck, I still can't get over that name," he shook his head, "are three time losers. Petty stuff. They hire on with whoever's paying the most for a hired gun at the time. Been in and out of jail for theft, but nothing big like this," Arte told Jim as the barkeep came with a plate of the same greasy eggs and biscuits and set it in front of Arte.

"Merci, mon bon homme," Arte said to the barkeep. He eyed the greasy plate and made a face. "What the hell is this?" he asked Jim when the barkeep was out of earshot.

"Eggs and biscuits," Jim grinned at his partner.

"Oh, please," Arte said starting to push the plate away.

"Better eat it, Arte. Don't want to raise any suspicions. After all, you did come in for breakfast didn't you?" Jim teased.

"Breakfast, not an oil bath," Arte replied. He put a small bit of egg in his mouth. "Oh, Lord," he muttered.

Jim chuckled. "Any information on who they might have hired on with this time?" he asked as Arte swallowed.

"A couple of possibilities," Arte began, "Claude Benoit is a native and was just released from prison. He served 5 years for selling guns to a bunch of renegades trying to restart the war," he told his partner. "Think I can get some coffee? This stuff is disgusting," Arte asked pushing the plate away. "And that leads us to possibility number two," he continued as Jim ordered another cup of coffee for himself and one for Arte. "Sasson Delacroix," Arte said.

"Wait, I know that name," Jim interrupted trying to remember.

"Yeah, you should," Arte said, "Think Shiloh."

"Damn!" Jim swore softly, now remembering the man, "Is he still alive? He must be 70."

"He is, and a very healthy 70 at that. After you had him arrested for treason, he was sent to a federal prison. He's been out less than a year, moved down here when he got out and hasn't been heard from since," Arte told him.

"At least not in the criminal world, anyway. He comes to town every now and again for supplies but not much else. He has a place in the bayou."

The barkeep brought the coffee and left the bill as well. Arte took a sip from his cup.

"So, what do you think?" Jim asked him.

"It's not bad," Arte shrugged.

"What?" Jim asked confused.

Arte looked at his partner, frowning, "The coffee. It's not bad."

"I meant who do you think is our likeliest candidate," Jim explained.

"Oh. Well," Arte took in a long breath, let it out slowly as he pondered, "Benoit is young, itching for the south to rise, and these thefts would suit his needs perfectly," he replied thoughtfully, "I could see him behind this. But I could just as easily see Delacroix as the brains of the outfit. He'd like the unpleasantries to restart and with his military experience, the arms and supplies stolen, he could outfit a small army. So, I guess it could be either one or neither of them," Arte concluded.

"Thank you, that was very helpful," Jim answered sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, Jim, I just don't know," Arte replied.

"Does Benoit still have a home here?" Jim asked.

"Last report we have says his parents are deceased. He has no siblings so I imagine the family home went to him," Arte told Jim where Benoit's family home was in the bayou and finished the coffee.

"Did you get hired on?" he asked noticing they were starting to draw attention.

"I meet the boss at 5:00," Jim answered dropping money on the table and rising. Loud enough for the barkeep to hear, he said, "That's the last time I try to do something nice for an old scruff. You didn't even eat!"

Arte stood, "You invited me, monsieur, I did not ask for anything," he answered. He turned and shuffled away from Jim.

"How do you like that," Jim mused for the barkeep's benefit. "Who is that old creep?"

"Never saw him before, but these Cajuns have large families. He's somebody's grandfather, I expect. Seems a might touched," the barkeep answered tapping his temple with one finger.

"I'll say," Jim agreed and exited the saloon. He lit a cigar and stood by the rail watching Arte shuffle off in the direction of the bayou, letting him get a distance away before following.

Jim picked his way through the think tangle of trees and soggy ground following Arte's obvious path into the bayou. He reached an area that was only traversable by boat and looked around. He caught a glimpse of gray hair and moved up quietly behind his partner, crouched behind a tree. Jim saw Arte was soaking wet and smiled as he imagined Arte somehow winding up in the brackish water. He tapped Arte's shoulder, startling him.

"Whup!" Arte exclaimed softly turning to face Jim. "What's the matter with you?" he whispered angrily. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"What happened to you?" Jim grinned at him, then his smile faded to a grimace, "What's that smell?" He sniffed near Arte. "Oh, you stink," he said waving a hand in front of his face. "What did you fall into?"

"Scat," Arte wrinkled his nose.

"From what? That is really foul!" Jim stated the obvious.

"God only knows and He's not telling," Arte snapped back, "I slipped in a pile of something that came out of the south end of a north bound animal, that's all I know."

Jim waved his hand in front of his face again, "You need to wash it off, buddy."

"Why do you think I'm wet? I tried to wash it off," Arte answered testily.

"It didn't work," Jim quipped taking a step away. "Where are you staying?" he asked turning back to business.

"See that little shack?" Arte pointed through the trees to a run down, threadbare structure.

"How'd you find that place?" Jim asked.

"Cajun's are friendly folk. It's been abandoned for years, so they let me take it over," Arte answered.

"Why are you hiding out here, then?" Jim asked.

"Because I have uninvited guests," Artemus pointed again and Jim saw Joe, Reds, and Otis coming out of the shack. "What do you suppose they want?"

"My guess is they're checking you out," Jim told him. "I guess they make it their business to know who's in the bayou and you're a stranger. Watch yourself, Arte," Jim warned.

"Of course. You better get out of here before they spot you. I think it's time to go be hospitable," Arte smiled.

Jim started to clap him on the shoulder then thought better of it, drew his hand back and left his partner. Arte waited until Jim disappeared in the thick trees then stepped from his hiding place and trooped up to the shack.

Jim scouted around in the bayou coming to Delacroix's home, a small but elegant wood structure. He considered knocking on the door to surprise the man, but decided against tipping his hand too soon. Besides, Delacroix might not be behind the thefts and terrorism of the locals. Jim settled for circling the home and observing. Delacroix did not appear and all seemed quiet.

Deciding nothing would happen here, Jim made his way over to Benoit's family home. It was a much larger spread than Delacroix's with several other buildings besides the house. Jim slipped up to the largest, a barn like building and peered in through a back window. It was empty and Jim found that odd. He checked the other buildings, and all were equally empty. Jim wanted to go in the house and get a look around so he crept up to the back door. Pulling a lockpick from his lapel, he opened the door and entered. It was dark and quiet. He searched the house but it seemed deserted, unoccupied for a long time. Maybe Benoit had not taken over the family home, after all.

Jim pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He needed to get back to town before his escorts arrived to take him to the 'boss'. He left the Benoit home and made his way back through the tangled wall of trees. Glancing behind him to make sure he was proceeding unseen, Jim slid and went down on one knee. Picking himself up, he realized he'd slipped in the same sort of scat pile Arte had. Now it was more imperative than ever that he get back to town. He needed to change the stench was nearly unbearable.

"What you want here?" Arte laid on the accent as he stepped up onto the small collapsing porch to his shack.

"Nothing, old timer. Who are you anyway?" Reds answered.

Arte squinted and leaned toward the three, "Desmond Bijoux, who wants to know?"

"You're new here, aren't you," Joe growled pushing Arte back. "What are you looking at?"

"Jest trying to see who comes to my home," Arte answered putting on a show of trying to see them, "I don't see so good, no more."

""He don't recognize us," Otis said to his companions.

"All the better for him," Reds replied, "Where'd you come from?"

"I come back from Canada to be with my family, but they don't live here no more. Least I don't find them," Arte answered. "What he mean I don't recognize you? I meet you before?" he asked leaning close to them again.

All three backed away from him with a collective "Phew."

"Nah. He doesn't know what he's saying. Come on, boys, he's nothing but a stinking, old fart," Reds said leading his friends away from the shack.

Arte watched them go. He sniffed his sleeve. "Artemus, old son, they're right about the stinking part," he said to himself and went inside to get out of the reeking clothes.

When Jim came down from his room just after 4:00, his escorts were at the bar talking to the bartender. They glanced at Jim as he approached.

"Mickey here says you treated some old guy to breakfast this morning. The one coming in when we left. You know him?" Reds inquired suspiciously.

"No. I had a moment of compassion for the old timer and offered him something to eat. What a waste of food and money," Jim replied.

"What'd you talk about?" Joe asked lighting a cheroot and jamming it between his teeth.

"Nothing. He wasn't very talkative," Jim answered lighting a cigar of his own.

"He tell you who he was?" Reds asked.

"Like I said, it was a moment of compassion for an old coot. I didn't ask and he didn't say," Jim answered, "What's he got to do with anything anyway?"

"Not a thing," Reds said sizing Jim up. He paused a moment then asked, "You ready to meet the boss?"

"About time," Jim answered, "I thought we were going to stand here jawing about that old man all night."

He followed the trio out and mounted his horse. They led Jim to the waterway and tied their horses to a tree.

"We go by boat from here," Reds informed Jim.

"You don't mind rowing do you?" Joe sneered the smoldering stub of his cigar firmly affixed to the corner of his mouth.

"I guess not," Jim replied stepping into the boat and taking up the oars. "Is it far?" he asked.

"Not too far. Just go that way," Reds pointed east.

Jim began to steer them in the direction indicated. They weren't anywhere near Benoit's spread but Delacroix's home was just beyond the bend in the waterway. Reds told him to take the fork leading away from Delacroix's home, though. Jim scanned the trees and spotted Arte sitting on the porch of the shack whittling. His partner gave no indication that he even saw them, let alone recognized them.

"There's that old coot again," Joe said quietly, nudging Reds with his elbow, "Maybe we'll come back and have some sport with him," he laughed.

"If we have time," Reds said seriously. "Up around the next bend you'll see a felled tree. Pull up to it," he instructed Jim.

Rounding the bend, Jim saw the tree lying across the water. There were no homes or buildings of any kind around. He rowed up to the tree and stopped. "Now what?" he asked sounding impatient.

"Now tie us up to the tree and get out," Reds told him.

Jim tied the boat securely as Joe and Reds pulled themselves up onto the broad trunk. Otis let Jim go before him. Joe and Reds led the way across the trunk, jumped down onto the soggy soil and waited for Jim and Otis.

Standing next to them, Jim looked around. "This is where your boss is?"

Reds put his hand on a knot on a large tree and pushed. A door swung open in the trunk and Jim saw a flight of stairs leading down. "In there," Reds ordered.

Jim ducked through the low doorway and started down the steps. "I can't see," he said stopping on the third step. Reds lit a lantern and handed it to him.

Jim continued down to the bottom. He was in a corridor that led farther east. He waited for the others to join him before proceeding down the passageway. It meandered for what Jim judged was about half a mile before ending at a closed door.

Reds stepped up and unlocked it. "Right through here, Mr. West," he said opening the door wide.


	3. Chapter 3

Jim had an uneasy feeling but entered as directed. He gazed around the room surprised. It looked like a living room one would expect to find in a fine home, not an underground hideout. There was a comfortable seating area with overstuffed chairs and a sofa, end tables and brightly lit lamps. Fine paintings hung on the walls and a sideboard held a crystal decanter and matching glasses.

"Very nice," Jim commented as the others entered.

"The boss likes to live well," Reds replied.

One of the paintings swung out revealing a glass window. Jim could not see into the room behind it. Reds, Joe and Otis left Jim alone in the room.

"Mr. West," a thin, reedy, voice from behind the glass greeted him.

"That's right," Jim answered trying to remember if he'd ever heard the voice before.

"I understand you have left your position with the government and wish to join my organization," the voice continued. "May I ask why?"

"Uncle Sam doesn't pay very well for the work required. I don't plan on working til I'm too old to enjoy my retirement. So I'm looking to make more money faster," Jim replied.

"And what of your friend, Artemus Gordon?" the voice querried.

"I'm sure your men told you how I feel about him," Jim said evenly.

"They did, but I want to hear it from you personally," the voice answered firmly.

"I can't stand the sight of him any longer," Jim spat. "He's a boozer who makes me do all the work and then he tries to grab all the credit. He's dead to me," Jim stated a hint of anger in his reply.

"Very good, Mr. West. I suppose you would not object to a test of your loyalty then?" the voice asked.

"Do I have a job with you?" Jim wanted to know.

"Pass this test and you will retire a rich, young man, Mr. West. Fail and die an unemployed ex government agent," came the answer.

"What's the test?" Jim asked.

"Kill Artemus Gordon," the voice answered mildly, "If he isn't the worthless fool you make him out to be, he's likely already searching for you. Kill him and seal your employment with me."

"When do you want it done?" Jim asked sounding unconcerned.

"Just like that? No remorse? No qualms of any kind?" his interrogator wanted to know.

"I told you. He's dead to me," Jim answered evenly.

"In that case, do it tonight. My men will know if you have succeeded, I assure you. Now, please help yourself to a drink. My men will return soon to lead you back to town. In the meantime, perhaps you can tell me if you know when the next shipment of arms and supplies for Fort Louisiana will be coming in?" the voice asked.

Jim knew. It was one of the reasons he and Arte had been assigned to solve this case right away. The shipment was due in two days. The previous ones had been hijacked and the fort was low on ammunition and supplies.

"Day after tomorrow," Jim answered honestly.

"Wonderful! I'm pleased to see you are sincere," the voice laughed heartily. "Please, pour yourself a drink. I will join you in a moment."

Jim went to the sideboard and poured a glass of sherry from the decanter, giving it a quick sniff before taking a sip.

"Do not go walking through the bayou tonight, mon ami," the dark, Cajun told Artemus, "The devil is loose."

"Incroyable!" Arte exclaimed, "The devil? What you saying, Henri," he asked.

"My brother and I just return. We hear it running through the trees. If you go out tonight, you meet the devil for sure, I guarantee," Henri replied sounding edgy. "If you hear him, run, and do not look back to see."

"I will remember what you say, Henri," Arte assured the man as they shook hands.

Arte moved between the trees following the waterway in the direction he'd seen Jim rowing. A sinister sound stopped him in his tracks and he listened intently. He heard the low growling sound again, this time coming from behind him and he whirled around, scanning the surroundings but saw nothing. A movement to his left drew his attention and Arte turned that way peering through the dense trees. He saw a flash of long brown fur. Something large was moving toward him. Larger than a man it slipped between two moss laden trees.

Arte crouched lower, not sure if it had seen him, and waited. Apparently it had, as it charged through the underbrush headed for him. The head was wolfen with a long muzzle and very sharp looking teeth. Arte caught a whiff of the foul stench that had covered him earlier and pulled out his pistol. The creature moved fast, barreling down on his position. He raised his gun and fired hitting the creature squarely in the chest. It had no effect on the beast. The beast hurled at him, launched itself and landed with its short front paws on his chest knocking him backward to the ground.

Arte fired into the beast's side at point blank range and again it seemed to have no effect. It closed is jaws on his shoulder and bit down hard sinking its teeth into him. Artemus cried out in pain and emptied his remaining rounds into the creature. Enraged, the beast slashed it's claws across his chest, then his cheek. It opened its mouth wide and roared in his face, fetid breath hot against his skin. Arte turned his face away, felt it bite into his shoulder again its teeth scraping against bone and shaking him like a rag doll.

Then it released him and ran off into the trees, the attack over as fast as it had begun. Arte rolled onto his side, his right arm across his chest, his hand holding his injured left shoulder. He truly believed the creature might return. Or worse, he feared, it might find Jim before he did. Arte struggled to his feet. He felt sick to his stomach and wondered if it was the foul breath he'd breathed or aftershock from meeting that living, breathing nightmare.

Arte swayed, nearly passing out. He had a decision to make. Wander the bayou searching for Jim or go to the train and treat his wounds. If he passed out, he'd be no good to Jim or himself at all. Treat his wounds and return and he stood a chance of finding Jim and helping him solve this bizarre case. The decision made, Arte turned away and headed for home praying the 'devil' did not find Jim.

A tall thin man wearing a devil's mask entered the room. Jim turned to greet the newcomer and stopped, briefly taken aback by the mask.

"You understand I cannot reveal my identity until I am sure of your loyalty, Mr. West," the man said.

"I understand. It's just your choice of masks that surprises me," Jim answered honestly. He studied the man's build. It could be either Benoit or Delacroix. Jim could not hear the voice well enough to be sure.

"I see you are still curious, though," the man in the mask chuckled softly.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. Have we met before?" Jim ventured.

"Tsk, tsk. Bad form, Mr. West. I will not reveal my identity to you by trick or by trade. You will have to complete my test and meet me face to face in the morning," his host told him. He poured himself a sherry, turned his back to Jim and downed the glass. The mask back in place, he turned again to Jim.

"You aren't the 'devil' I've heard the locals talking about are you?" Jim posed.

"I hear my men returning now," he said as the sound of approaching feet announced their arrival. From behind the mask, came a quiet laugh, but no other answer.

Reds, Joe, and Otis entered. Reds and Joe were laughing, Otis looked sick.

"Gentlemen, what have you been up to?" the masked man asked his lackeys.

"Just a little fun with some old coot in the bayou," Reds laughed.

"What have you done, boys," he asked with the patience of a parent questioning a naughty child.

"We let Belial have a go at him," Joe chortled low in his throat, shifting his perpetual cheroot stub.

"Is Belial alright?" the man asked now sounding annoyed.

"He's fine, boss. Safe and sound back in his lair," Reds answered, "We only took him out for a few minutes."

"And the old man in the bayou?" the masked man wanted to know.

"Dead or dying, I expect. Belial got a good taste of his tired old blood," Reds snickered.

Otis ran to a corner and wretched loudly.

The man in the mask sighed a long low breath. "You let Otis witness that?" he asked now clearly angry, "I've told you, he's too weak in the mind to understand such sport. And what if the old man's family reports him missing?"

"We checked him out earlier, boss. He doesn't have any family. No one will be looking for him," Joe assured his employer.

"I suppose there's nothing to be done about it now anyway. You two take Mr. West back. He has a job to do for me. Return tomorrow morning," he dismissed them angrily.

When his men had left, the man pulled off his mask and went to Otis. He put his arm around the round man's shoulders. "Don't worry about it, Otis. Calm yourself," he spoke gently to the dim witted man who was crying and shaking.

"It was terrible. Belial bit him and clawed him. He was just an old man. He didn't hurt anyone. Why do Reds and Joe like to cause so much pain? Why do they make Belial be so bad?" Otis sobbed.

"It is necessary sometimes, my son. Don't fret about it any longer. Come, I have a wonderful dinner prepared for us," the man led Otis out of the living room gently rubbing him on the back.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim left with Reds and Joe. He did not show the worry he felt. Who was Belial and what had he done to Arte? Jim cautiously scanned the trees for some sign of his partner as they rowed back to where they'd left the horses. He could not see much of anything in the darkness and the density of the trees. He hoped Arte was alright and wondered for a moment how he was going to pull off killing Arte if he was lying in the bayou somewhere, 'dead or dying', as Reds had put it.

"So where do we find your ex-partner?" Joe asked Jim as they rode into town.

"Back at the train, if I know him, drunk out of his mind, worrying how he's going to survive without me," Jim answered. "Who's Belial?" he posed to the two men riding with him.

"Otis' pet," Reds snickered.

"Pet?" Jim queried. "What sort of pet?"

"Some kind of wolf, I think," Joe answered, "But not like any wolf you've ever seen. He's some kind of mutant. Big, bigger than even me or you. His front legs are shortened so he mostly goes around on his two hind feet. Otis is the only one who can really keep him calm. Belial's been good for business, though," Joe chuckled.

"Why set him on the old man?" Jim asked hiding his rage.

"For sport," Reds replied with a snort, "And letting Belial get the taste of blood keeps him agitated. After he does his job, we satisfy Belial's taste for blood by feeding him raw meat."

"Hmm," Jim commented, "I can't wait to see this pet."

"You will, if the boss hires you. We use him on every job now," Joe assured Jim.

They were nearing the train. Jim saw lights on and hoped that meant Arte was inside. They pulled up and Jim dismounted. "Are you coming in with me?" he asked the other two.

"No need. You do what you have to and we'll check it out after you're done," Reds told him.

Jim sent up a silent prayer of thanks. He'd have at least a few minutes alone with Arte. He stepped up onto the platform and opened the door.

"Don't take too long, West," Joe growled with an evil smile.

"You'll know when I'm done," Jim answered and closed the door behind him.

Nearly hidden in the pattern of the carpet, Jim saw splotches of blood leading across the room. He hurried down the corridor to the w.c.

"Arte," he said as he opened the door. Arte was dabbing disinfectant on the deep teeth marks in his shoulder. Ugly gashes on his chest seeped blood, staining him red to his waist. When he turned toward him, Jim saw three identical gashes on Arte's cheek. His face glistened with a light sheen of perspiration.

"Belial," Jim muttered.

"What?" Arte asked weakly, leaning heavily on the sink.

"You met Belial," Jim answered.

"That beast has a name?" Arte was incredulous. "Well at least it's appropriate."

"What do you mean?" Jim asked taking over the administration of the wounds. He could feel the heat of fever coming off his partner's body.

"Belial, another name for the devil, Satan, Beelzebub, any of this taking on a familiar ring?" Arte asked wincing as Jim swabbed the moistened cloth across his chest.

"Yeah, the devil monster that's been terrorizing the locals," Jim answered. After a moment of silence, Jim announced, "You know, I'm here to kill you?"

"Oh, fine. Why?" Arte asked sarcastically.

"A test. If I pass I get the job, if not, we're both dead," Jim answered quietly.

"So how are you going to manage that?" Arte swayed as a wave of dizziness swept over him.

"Take it easy, Arte," Jim steadied his friend. He took him into the parlor car and sat him in a chair at the table. "Where's your shirt?" Jim asked getting an idea.

"In the w.c." Arte answered closing his eyes against another wave of vertigo.

Jim came back with the bloodied shirt. "Arte, I hate to ask you this, but can you cover the gashes on your face with make up?"

"That wouldn't be my first choice, but yes, I can," Arte answered. "Why?"

"I'm going to shoot a hole in your shirt then you put it back on and lay on the floor. Those two morons will think I've shot you and report back that I completed the test successfully," Jim explained.

"Two morons? Weren't you in the company of three morons?" Arte asked getting up to get his make up case. He was listing badly as he returned to the table and nearly missed the chair sitting down.

"Take it easy, Arte," Jim put his hands on Arte's shoulders steadying him in the chair. "What's wrong?" Jim asked urgently.

"Just dizzy," Arte waved off Jim's concern hoping to hide from his partner how bad he actually felt.

"Tell me what happened to goon number 3?" Arte asked starting to cover the gashes on his face with putty. Make up was not going to be enough.

"Otis got sick in the corner when the other two were telling the 'boss' what they did to you, or, rather, to the old man," Jim explained watching Arte carefully pretending to be interested in the transformation taking place.

"A goon with a conscience. That's a new one. Who's the boss?" Arte asked struggling to concentrate. The room was spinning and he felt like passing out. He couldn't have lost that much blood. Something else was at work here.

"No idea. I can't place his voice and he kept his face hidden with a mask. A devil mask at that! I find out in the morning if I'm successful with this test. Are you about done? They must be wondering what's taking me so long," Jim urged his friend to hurry. If Reds and Joe came in, Arte would be dead for real.

"That'll have to do, what do you think?" Arte turned toward Jim and almost fell out of the chair as the room took a particularly swift spin.

"It's fine. Are you that dizzy?" Jim was concerned. He put his hand on Arte's forehead. "You're burning up," he said.

"Just let me get on the floor. I can't possibly fall any farther than that," Arte tried to joke.

Jim helped him sit on the floor, put away his friend's make up case then picked up Arte's bloody shirt. He fired into the center of the chest area and handed it to Arte who slipped it on. Jim helped him into a jacket to cover the blood at the shoulder and Arte laid down. It was a relief to be flat on his back. He closed his eyes hoping the dizziness would pass. He heard Jim open the door and call to Reds and Joe.

"It's done," Jim announced.

"Good. We were beginning to wonder," Reds answered joining Jim in the doorway. Joe followed close behind. They stared at the prone figure on the floor. There was a clear black hole in the center of the chest and lots of blood all around it.

"Good shooting," Reds complimented and turned toward Jim.

Jim wasted no time. He'd decided he didn't need these two to find his way back to the masked man's hideout. He punched Reds in the nose so hard the man's head snapped back. Jim followed this with a quick, hard jab to the throat and Reds went to his knees. Jim crumpled him with doubled fists to the back of his neck.

"Hey!" Joe shouted realizing what was happening.

He flung his cigar butt aside and grabbed Jim in a strangle hold around the throat. Jim stepped to the side as he tried to pry Joe's big fingers from his neck. Then suddenly, Joe was falling forward into him. Joe's grip released as he tried to break his fall. Jim stepped back and let him hit the ground. Quickly, he landed a kick to the back of Joe's head, slamming his broad face into the floor. Joe stopped moving and Jim handcuffed him. He looked over at Arte who was leaning on one elbow.

Jim straightened his jacket. "Thanks, Arte," he said knowing his partner had pulled Joe's legs out from under him.

"Well, I couldn't very well let him choke you to death. Even though you did come back just to kill me," Arte quipped. Suddenly the smile left his face and he pitched forward unconscious.

Jim rushed to check on Arte. His breathing was uneven. Jim dragged the unconscious Reds and Joe down the corridor and locked them in the holding cell beyond the stable car. Then he returned to his partner, lifted him and took him to his room. He did not have to be back to the hideout until morning so in the meantime he would do what he could for his friend.

It was a long hard night. Arte tossed and thrashed waking often in a delirium. He was agitated and spoke nonsense, fighting Jim. Jim calmed him, got him to lie down and dozed lightly between the bouts. In the morning, Jim opened his eyes, stole a look at the clock on Arte's dresser. 7:00. He'd slept 3 hours without interruption. Jim went to the bed where Arte now lay sleeping quietly.

"I'll be back soon," Jim murmured as he left to wash up and change before returning to the hideout.

Entering the parlor car, Jim pulled up short. How was this possible? Joe sat with his back to the door in a chair at the table. Silently, Jim pulled his gun and placed it at the back of the man's head, cocked it.

"Don't shoot, Jim, it's me," Arte said quickly, freezing.

"Arte," Jim sighed and holstered his gun, "What do you think you're doing?"

Arte turned toward Jim, his face made up to an almost exact likeness of Joe. He popped a cheroot stub into his teeth and grinned at Jim. "How do I look?" he asked imitating Joe's voice perfectly.

"That's scary, Arte," Jim answered, "But I repeat, what do you think you're doing?"

"Going with you, of course," Arte stated simply.

"No you're not. You need to rest," Jim chided.

"I'll be the judge of that, if you don't mind. Besides, you can't very well go back without at least one of those two," Arte reasoned, thumbing over his shoulder at the corridor. He pulled on a pair of dusty old boots.

Knowing it was probably pointless to argue, Jim tried anyway, "Look, you were pretty seriously injured last night by that outlandish sounding pet of theirs. And you spent most of the night delirious. I don't think you're in any condition to go traipsing around the bayou," he told his friend.

"Pet? That thing is a pet? Oh, that seals it, Jim. I have to meet the man who has that creature for a pet," Arte said firmly. "Have you seen that thing?"

"No. Reds and Joe described it to me. And seeing what it did to you, I believe every word they said," Jim argued back.

"It was huge, Jim. With a mouth this big," Arte demonstrated with his hands spread. Jim noticed the wince when he moved his left arm. "And full of sharp teeth. It looked like a wolf. Sort of, only bigger, and it walked on two legs!" Arte exclaimed.

"It is a wolf," Jim told him, "Some sort of mutant. Apparently they feed it raw meat to slake its taste for blood. It's Otis' pet," Jim finished.

"Oh, what a mental picture that is," Arte rolled his eyes. "That little round simpleton in control of that enormous beast. We can't let them let it loose again, Jim, you know that. And I won't let you go alone to face it," Arte closed the argument.

Jim regarded his partner, lips pursed then he relented. "All right, but if you start to feel dizzy or sick, I want your word you'll stop," Jim demanded.

"You have it," Arte agreed.

"By the way, what's Joe wearing?" Jim asked indicating the clothes Arte was wearing.

"Underwear," Arte shrugged.

Along the way, they came up with a story for the missing Reds. He had been shot by Artemus before Jim could stop him. As Joe, Arte would attest to the fact that Artemus Gordon was dead. Jim told him the masked man's plan to heist the arms and supplies bound for the fort and that he'd learned they would use Belial to scare away the workers.

"Jim," Arte now ventured seriously, "Last night, I emptied my gun point blank into that beast. It didn't even slow it down. How are we going to stop it?"

"I don't know what we're going to do, but we'll think of something. We always do," Jim told his partner.

"Do you think we could swing Otis to our side? Maybe promise him Belial won't be hurt if he controls him and doesn't let him harm anyone?" Arte asked.

"Maybe. He doesn't seem to like Joe much nor Joe him, so you better let me try," Jim answered.

"Clatterbuck," Arte murmured, "I can't seem to get the name out of my head. Seems I've heard it before, but I don't know where."

"I don't recall that name at all, Arte. Was it during the war?" Jim asked trying to jog his partner's memory.

"I don't think so. Maybe right after that, though. I just can't remember," he shook his head. _Oh, big mistake, _he thought to himself as his world took a quick spin. _No shaking of the head, _he told himself glancing at Jim to see if he'd noticed.

Jim had noticed, but did not let on. He'd known all along, that Arte would not keep his word unless things got really bad and had already decided to just keep his eye on his pig headed partner.

They reached the waterway and climbed into the rowboat.

"Want me to row?" Arte offered.

"No, I know the way, you don't," Jim countered. _As if I'd let him row in his condition, _Jim said to himself.

When they reached the fallen tree, Arte said, "Right over there is where Belial attacked me, Jim," he pointed to a spot very near the end of the fallen tree.

"Then you were almost to the hideout," Jim told him tying off the boat. He climbed up onto the trunk and offered his hand to Arte who took it gratefully.

"Thanks, Jim. That would have been tough with a bum wing," Arte said and followed Jim to the tree with the hidden door. "So now what?" he asked his partner.

Jim smiled and pushed the knot on the tree that activated the door.

"That's very clever," Arte commented ducking into the tree.

Jim handed him a lantern and whispered, "Just go down the steps and through the passageway to the end."

"Why are we whispering?" Arte whispered back.

"In case anyone's listening. You're Joe, remember? You're supposed to know the way," Jim answered.

"Right."

Coming to the door, Jim twisted the knob. It was locked. He looked up at Arte.

Arte searched Joe's pockets and found a key. He inserted it and received the satisfying sound of the tumblers dropping. He opened the door and they entered.

The picture swung away from the wall and the masked man spoke from behind the glass.

"Where is Reds?" he asked immediately.

Imitating Joe's voice, Arte answered, "That Gordon fella shot him dead before West could stop him."

"And Gordon?" the man asked anxiously.

"He's dead, boss. I saw the body myself," Arte replied.

"Good. Very good, I'll join you presently," the man said. The picture swung closed and a moment later a door silently slid open for him to enter. He again wore the devil mask. The man strode purposefully right up to Artemus and began to chastise him, poking his finger into his chest emphasizing each word.

"Otis has told me how you treated him, Hammond," he said angrily with a sharp jab of his finger. "I have told you more than enough times not to tease him. He can't help it that he's simple. He's a good boy and does as he's told," jab went the finger again.

It was everything Arte could do not to grimace as each poke reminded him of last night's experience. "I'm sorry, boss," Arte answered sincerely.

"See that it never happens again," jab, jab, jab, "or Belial will have sport with you!" One very hard jab and Arte did wince.

"Yes, sir, boss," he said softly. The man glared at him a moment longer then turned to Jim.

"Now, Mr. West. You're hired," he said all sweetness and light. "You will help Joe prepare for tomorrow's event. With this shipment, the fort will be crippled. We'll have all the supplies and ammunition necessary to raise the south to glory," came the gleeful cry from behind the mask.

"You said we'd meet face to face," Jim reminded the man.

"Ah, curiosity. I like that. I did say that, didn't I?" he turned away and called out, "Otis, join me, my son!"

Jim and Arte exchanged glances. Son?

Otis came in, head down and stood next to the masked man.

"I am about to reveal our secret, my boy. Are you ready to drop all charades and join me?" he asked.

Otis nodded, what seemed to Jim, a little reluctantly.


	5. Chapter 5

Standing with his back to them, the mask was pulled over his head. Curly dark hair appeared and then he turned.

Neither Jim nor Arte could contain the looks of surprise that crossed their faces. It was not a man. It was, in fact, a woman with short-cropped hair. She bowed.

"Ariel Clatterbuck, at your service," she said looking at them. Then she frowned. "I expected surprise from you, Mr. West, but Joe, you have known all along what my secret was," she approached Arte warily, peering at him through narrowed eyes. Reaching out quickly, she clawed at Arte's face, ripping through the putty mask that covered his own features, and shrieked with rage. Ariel flung herself at Arte and pulled the rest of the mask off revealing his face and the three gashes on his cheek.

"No, it can't be. You're supposed to be dead!" she exclaimed angrily. She turned and hurled herself at Jim. "You said you killed him," she accused angrily, flailing her fists against his chest, "and all he has is some scratches!"

Otis stepped forward and took his mother by the shoulders, "Mother, Belial did that," he stated.

"What do you mean?" Ariel asked him in surprise.

"Belial scratched the old man last night, just like that," Otis continued.

"This is too much!" she screamed. "Otis, get Belial ready," she ordered and Otis ran to comply.

"I don't like the sound of that, Jim," Arte said to his partner.

"Neither do I," Jim agreed.

"So let's leave," Arte urged.

"Right behind you," Jim answered and grabbed Ariel by the wrist and pulled her along with them as they fled the underground hideout.

"Let go of me," Ariel shrieked and struggled to break free. But Jim's grip was vice-like and she was forced to go along, back through the passageway and up the stairs.

When they were outside, she screamed at them. "You fools! Belial will kill you! He'll hunt you down and tear you to shreds!"

"Yeah? Well you'll be right there with us," Jim informed her.

They heard a snarling growl and turned toward the fallen tree. Belial stood atop it blocking their path to the boat.

Jim was seeing the huge beast for the first time and was truly shocked by it's size.

"Get them, Belial," Ariel shouted, "Kill, Belial, kill!" she ordered.

Belial leaped forward. Jim jumped left toward Artemus and Belial missed him. Ariel did not fare as well. Belial closed his large mouth on her throat and cut off her scream with one bite, tearing her throat out.

"Run," Jim said to Arte and they took off as fast as they could, climbing over branches and pulling their feet out of sucking soil. Behind them they heard Otis scream.

"No, Belial, not mother!" followed by a mournful cry. "Mother," Otis yelled with a heart wrenching sob over the loss of his mother.

The agents tried to move faster but were hindered by the wet quagmire of the bayou. They heard the large beast as it gained on them with every step. They could hear it grunting as it came closer and closer.

"Time to stand and fight," Jim said to Arte.

Arte looked skeptical but turned in unison with Jim facing the hurtling beast for the second time.

Belial swung his head back and forth looking first at Jim then at Arte trying to decide which to take first. The one smelled of his tormentor and of the blood he'd already tasted, the other was fresh meat.

They drew their guns and began firing at the quickly approaching beast. As Arte had discovered the night before, the bullets had no effect on Belial.

Arte's gun was empty. Belial was headed straight for him. He threw his pistol, hitting Belial in the eye. The animal yelped and reared for a second. Arte took that second to throw himself on the ground, curling onto his side, bringing his arms up protecting his head and neck. Belial's teeth sank into his exposed side, crunching ribs. Arte screamed.

Jim leapt onto Belial's back drawing his knife from the side of his boot and plunged it into the beast's eye. Belial howled in pain and anger, releasing his grip on Artemus. He began to try to shake Jim off his back, and tried unsuccessfully to claw at him with its short forelegs.

Jim buried the knife into the side of Belial's neck and began to cut. It was like sawing through leather with a butter knife, but he kept see sawing the knife back and forth until finally a geyser of blood shot from it's severed jugular.

Wild, Belial spun around in circles, bathing everything within 10 feet with its blood. Finally weakened, Belial lay down and began to whimper like a puppy. Otis ran up and flung himself down next to his dying pet.

Jim climbed off Belial's back and rushed to Arte, turning him onto his back Arte struggled against Jim thinking it was Belial again. He was in shock and would have struggled against anything that touched him at that moment.

"Arte, it's me," Jim said loudly, restraining Arte's arms. "Calm down," he said more softly, "Calm down," now in normal tones.

Arte stopped struggling. Breathing hard, he stared at Jim as if he didn't know him. Slowly his eyes registered recognition.

"Jim," he said softly. Then he looked around wildly.

"Belial's dead, Arte," Jim reassured him quickly. "It's over."

"Dead?" Arte repeated, "Thank goodness," he mumbled.

Jim helped him up. "Can you stand? I've got to get Otis," Jim asked concerned. He'd never seen his partner truly frightened.

"Yeah, go ahead," Arte answered, wavering unsteadily but holding his own.

"Otis," Jim said to the weeping simple-minded man, "Come with me."

Otis looked up at Jim, a great sorrow in his eyes. "Belial wasn't bad, you know. Mother let Reds and Joe mistreat him. They made him bad. But he loved me. He always did what I told him to do. He was a good boy," Otis rambled as Jim got him to his feet. Jim did not cuff the poor simple man.

"Will you come with me peacefully?" Jim asked him.

"I have nowhere else to go," Otis answered. "I'm hungry," he added softly.

"I promise you'll eat when we get where we're going, Otis," Jim assured him.

"Ok," Otis answered meekly and followed Jim.

Arte was leaning over a fallen tree retching. He wiped his mouth and stood as straight as his injured side would allow. "Jim, it's starting again," Arte said swaying.

"What is?" Jim asked holding onto his partner to keep him upright.

"Like last night. I got so sick before I made it back to the train. It's last night all over again," Arte answered.

"Alright, let's get going then," Jim said, supporting his friend and leading him toward the boat.

"This way is faster," Otis said pointing. Jim doubled back and followed Otis on a poorly marked trail that led them to the horses. It had taken less than five minutes, though, saving them nearly half an hour in the boat.

In the time it took to reach the train, Arte had to stop to retch two more times. By the time Jim had cleaned up the wounds on his side, Arte was feverish and delirious again.

From the doorway of Arte's room, Otis spoke to Jim. "It's part of what made Belial like he was. His bite is like poison. If it doesn't kill you, it only lasts a couple of days," he said simply.

"Well it didn't kill Arte last night, let's hope it doesn't kill him today," Jim answered.

"No one has ever been bitten twice," Otis replied.

"Otis, why don't you go into the galley and get yourself something to eat," Jim instructed. Otis left without another word. Jim had a thought and called him back. "Otis, wait," he said going to the door. "Is there an antidote to Belial's poison?" he asked.

"No," Otis answered, "It either kills you or it doesn't. It's not really poison, just some kind of sickness inside him. It also made his scat smell really bad," Otis whispered.

"I'm familiar with that fact," Jim answered running his hand through his hair. He was tired and frustrated. He wanted to devote his attention to Arte, but had Otis to contend with as well.

Jim could hear Reds and Joe hollering from the holding cell. His anger suddenly flared and he stalked to the car ahead.

"Shut up!" he yelled at them drawing his gun, "One more word out of either of you and I'll shoot you myself!"

"You won't do that. Your a federal agent," Reds answered saucily.

Jim shot at him, creasing his arm. "Care to try me again?" he asked menacingly. "Now shut up!"

He met Otis in the corridor carrying two plates of food.

"Who's that for?" Jim demanded, in a tone harsher than he'd intended.

"Reds and Joe. Mother would want me to see that they ate properly," Otis told him. "Is it alright?"

Jim forced himself under control. "Yes, Otis. It's all right. After they eat," Jim reached into Arte's room and came out with some bandages, "give them some water and these. Reds needs them."

Otis nodded and scurried off.

"I'm in a mad house," Jim muttered returning to his partner.

The effects of the bite were worse than the night before but by late that evening, Arte was finally sleeping soundly. Jim stood, stretched his aching muscles and went in search of Otis. He found him by the holding cell taunting the prisoners.

"No food for you tonight, Reds. Just like you starved my poor Belial," he chuckled softly.

"West, get this imbecile out of here," Joe growled.

"Oh, I don't know. He makes a pretty good guard in my opinion," Jim smiled pleasantly at them. "Stay here while I file a report, Otis, then we'll have dinner." Jim realized he hadn't eaten all day and his stomach protested.

He went to the parlor car and wired a report to Colonel Richmond giving details on where the hideout was and where they would find the stolen arms and supplies. He explained about Ariel Clatterbuck and Belial, and Otis and Reds and Joe. He asked for troops from the fort to come and pick them up from the train but requested leniency for Otis. He received a reply immediately. Fort troops would arrive in an hour for the prisoners. Jim went to the galley and prepared a light meal for him and Otis. The troops arrived just as they finished their supper.

"Do I have to go?" Otis asked a bit sadly.

"I'm afraid so, Otis, but you'll be alright," Jim promised him. He genuinely felt sorry for Otis. He was simple minded and easily led astray. Jim would be sure to emphasize that at the trial.

Finally everyone was out and Jim flopped exhausted on the sofa. The quiet was deafening, but he welcomed it. He sat a few minutes then cleaned up dinner and headed down the hall. He stopped at Arte's room entering quietly. He needn't have bothered. Arte was awake.

"I thought you'd sleep through the night," Jim said taking a seat in the chair.

"I intend to," Arte replied, "I just heard the prisoners being taken out."

"Yes, thank goodness. I've already filed the report so all that's left is for you to heal. How do you feel?" Jim asked.

"Nauseous," Arte made a sour face. "I remember where I heard the name Clatterbuck before," he told Jim.

"Where?" Jim sounded tired but interested.

"After the war, my first assignment before we were partnered. Denver Clatterbuck was a murderer. He killed a friend of then General Grant's, a senator from Louisiana, who sided with the north during the war. Clatterbuck was using an alias at the time. He called himself Victor Tremaine. It wasn't until after I had to shoot him that I found out his real name."

"His wife, Ariel, swore she'd avenge her husband's death. Otis was about 25 at the time. I didn't know his name, of course, but I saw him at the trial. He was holding a little black dog. Or at least I thought it was a dog. I guess it was Belial." Arte shuddered, "I think I'm going to have nightmares for a month," he said softly. Jim did not respond.

Arte looked over at his partner. Jim was slumped down in the comfortable chair, one leg slung over the arm, sound asleep. Arte chuckled, got slowly out of the bed and draped a blanket over his sleeping friend.

"I'll tell you all about it in the morning," he said turning down the lamp as Jim snored softly.


End file.
